Майкл Крайтон - The Andromeda Evolution

“If I don’t, a lot of people will die. Including people I care about.”

“That’s what I mean,” said Vedala. “Not for me. You don’t have to do this for me. I knew the risks. I don’t need saving.”

“I am doing this for you, Nidhi. But I’m also doing it for him , you understand?”

“Tupa,” said Vedala.

“He’s alone down there. Andromeda took his family. It took away the only world he ever really belonged in . . .”

Stone stopped speaking. Composing himself, he continued slowly. “I’m going back for him. Somebody did the same thing for me, once.”

Stone felt a tremor pass through his suit as the exterior airlock unsealed. A red square of light on the wall flashed green. It was time to go.

“Wish me luck,” said Stone.

Vedala couldn’t bring herself to answer.

IN THESE LAST moments, Stone’s physiological signs, monitored by the pressure suit, registered near total exhaustion. His respiration was soon labored to the point that he was unable to communicate effectively via radio, and he appeared to be fading in and out of consciousness. Moving slowly, as if underwater, he navigated across the devastated exterior of the International Space Station.

Earth seemed so very small and far away.

Stone carried a bulky load on his back, comprised of the flight parachute and the shaped-charge canister. Maneuvering was nearly impossible. He was forced to stop and gather his strength multiple times. At each instance, it was unclear whether he was resting or had passed out completely.

After twenty minutes, Stone stopped moving.

“James?” radioed Vedala. “James, you have to keep going. The infection could jump to the ribbon any second. You have to get down there before it does.”

Twenty seconds of static played over the line.

Finally, Stone responded between deep breaths. “Prep the climber, Nidhi. I’m securing myself. Be ready to decouple the ISS and decelerate directly after detonation. We’ll send the rest of this mess into deep space.”

As a result of the proximity of the infected modules, the internal temperature of the ISS had risen by ten degrees. The ventilation and cooling systems were taxed well beyond their limits. Cut off from Mission Control for over twenty-four hours, myriad problems had been left unattended and unmonitored.

Finally liberated, Hamanaka and Komarov had quickly reestablished radio connections to Moscow and Houston. With the help of hundreds of Earthside scientists in both nations, they were efficiently working their way through a triage list of life support and environmental problems. Groundside, mathematicians were feverishly working out thrust and decoupling calculations for remote execution at the proper time.

Only Vedala had been left to visually monitor the infection outside. And from what she could see, the situation didn’t look promising.

The twitching filaments were absorbing the Wildfire and Leonardo modules, slowly combining them into a single malleable globule of black-purple metal, its surface flickering with a skein of greenish light. Vedala couldn’t be certain it wasn’t the morphine, but she thought she had glimpsed disturbing shapes emerging from the seething mass. Sinuous limblike twists of metal. Other, more complex surfaces that reminded her of circuit boards.

The Andromeda Evolution was progressing.

It took another twenty minutes for Stone to secure himself and the explosive charge to the climbing platform. He first used tether hooks to attach himself once again to the narrow ledge of metal gridwork that encircled the climber. Next, he strapped the explosive canister to the base with a handful of Russian cable ties—extremely strong solid copper wires, looped on both ends.

Last, Stone used a tether hook to snap a short primary leash to the grated floor of the climber. Then he placed a much longer, secondary leash around the golden pin at the rear of the shaped-charge explosive. Both tethers were connected securely to anchor points on his waist.

Sweating and nearly delirious in his pressurized suit, Stone sat down on the lip of metal. In the distance below, he could see the round curve of the entire Earth—frighteningly far away. The ribbon itself was barely visible, just a glimmer. Even so, he could feel it singing through the bones of the climbing platform.

Dr. James Stone gave a final thumbs-up.

“Ready,” he reported, “as I’ll ever be.”

“James,” said Vedala, letting the moment stretch out. “I want you to live through this. Okay?”

“It’s just an overgrown roller coaster, Nidhi. Let’s start the ride.”

Vedala reluctantly punched the release button.

The climber lurched, sending a shudder through the entire ISS. Then the rolling pins at the top of the climber began revolving in reverse. The stripped-down, barely functional climbing platform began accelerating downward. Within seconds it had reached a cruising speed of 7,500 miles per hour.

The bottom dropped out of Stone’s world.

On board the ISS, the solar panels began to tremble as the mass transferred down the tether. Otherwise all was still, save for an eerie humming as vibrations traveled through the ribbon.

STONE CLUNG TO the base of the shaking metal platform, aching fingers pushed through the gridwork. Staring out the mirrored visor of his helmet, he watched breathlessly as Earth slowly began to grow larger.

He was moving at over 7,500 miles per hour. On Earth’s surface this speed would have been astounding, but it was less than half the normal orbital speed of the International Space Station. In microgravity and without air friction, it was hard to notice any movement at all.

Every few minutes, Stone checked the canister at its attachment point, making sure it was still secure. If he was unable to detonate the charge, or if it failed to sever the tether, then whatever alien mind was behind the creation of the Andromeda Strain would very likely wipe out the planet.

But all Stone could really think of was Tupa, alone and abandoned in a quarantine zone, and the promise he had made to the boy. To distract himself, he focused on walking through the mental steps necessary to complete his task. And in that way, over two hours elapsed.

“How’s it going down there?” asked Vedala, her voice nearly drowned out over the thrumming in Stone’s helmet.

“Hell of a view. Status?” he radioed back.

“Less than two thousand miles to go. Once you hit atmosphere at around a hundred miles, we’ll slow you down.”

“Good, that’s—”

At UTC 21:11:20, the climber was hit by a severe tremor. The origin was from somewhere above, and it sent the platform wobbling side to side with multiple g-forces. The unexpected jolt threw Stone from his perch. The short primary leash held, and he was left dangling from the edge of the falling platform. The soaring length of ribbon sliced past, only inches from his wildly kicking boots.

Dust particles shaken off the platform impacted the ribbon above and below, igniting into a blazing shower of sparks. Stone prayed his suit integrity would hold as the fan of light coursed over his dangling feet.

For nearly three minutes, the climber swung and rocked. Legs pedaling over nothingness, Stone swung by his tether like a rag doll. Then, with a final shout of utter exhaustion, he managed to lunge onto the metal gridwork and pull himself back up. For several minutes, Stone simply recovered his strength.

“What—what was that?” he finally radioed, panting.

“The infection has spread to the ribbon,” said Vedala. “It’s traveling down toward you, and it’s moving fast.”

“How fast? Is it moving faster than I am?”

“I can’t tell. Just hold on, and I’ll advise. You only need ten more minutes.”